


Songs of Life and Death

by Muspell



Series: Hardbacked and Leatherbound [9]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M, but no triggers this time, happen in between chap 9 and 10 of silver linings, leobek strikes again, light mentions of dark past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-14 04:15:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11200245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muspell/pseuds/Muspell
Summary: Yuri’s been here before, he knows Leo’s not a threat to him, to their relationship. They’re just friends; the Otabek who lived with Leo was destructive, unapproachable. A stone fortress covered in spikes. Yuri can’t possibly be jealous of not having met that guy. And yet.He can’t help it. He’s feeling left out. As if he were Otabek’s embarrassing little secret, playing hide and seek and hushing each other’s praises. Always in the dark, always quietly.





	1. Chapter 1

It irritates him. It’s stupid and nonsense and straight up childish. He knows.

Still, Yuri seethes when he reads the text Otabek’s sent him for the billionth time in five minutes. 

_ “Can’t call you right now. Zhamila’s skyping Leo.”  _

He’s been here before, he  _ knows _ Leo’s not a threat to him, to their relationship. They’re just friends; the Otabek who lived with Leo was destructive, unapproachable. A stone fortress covered in spikes. Yuri can’t possibly be jealous of not having met  _ that _ guy. And yet. 

At least Leo knows Otabek’s baby sister. His treasure. Yuri’s his fucking boyfriend and all he knows of her are rumours and stories chopped off and told over and over in different words, in different voices.  _ She’ll adore you _ , Otabek would assure him, but he hasn’t talked to the girl yet. 

He can’t help it. He’s feeling left out. As if he were Otabek’s embarrassing little secret, playing hide and seek and hushing each other’s praises. Always in the dark, always quietly. 

Yuri types. Erases. Types again. He scoffs and drops back onto his bed; he’s better than this, there’s no need for a fight. 

He hears his phone rumbling somewhere under the covers: Otabek must be getting worried.

But. 

A part of him (the most sensible part, Yuri reckons) wants to pick up the phone, tell Otabek it’s fine. Everything’s fine: Yuri just misses him and it’s so overwhelming to have him so far off when they were so impossibly close, drunk on sweet words and laced  together, only a couple of weeks ago. That every step that doesn't bring them closer feels like miles stretching out in between them. Every little thing he doesn’t quite know, a sea to swim across and there’s no bridge built up for him unless Otabek allows it. Yuri knows he’s not exactly helping his case either.

It’s stupid and so needy Yuri would slap some sense into himself if he only could. 

And it wasn’t even a secret, damn it! It’s not like Otabek  _ wanted to _ keep his little sister away from him. If anything, he’s always eager to talk about how he’d love them to get to know each other. He speaks of her as if she was the anchor that kept him on the ground despite it all; Yuri might be almost a bit intimidated by it. Which doesn’t mean scared, at all: he can’t be scared of a little girl who just wants what’s best for her brother. He still feels the need to like her: she’s clearly important to Otabek and that makes her important for him as well. 

If only he could talk to her. But there’s always something in between: schedules, and curfews, and the girl falling asleep before he can call, or coming back home before he’s even left the rink for the afternoon. Yuri’s seen pictures of the girl but that’s about it: Zhamila insists on talking to him properly, not over impersonal recorded audios. Something on the lines of ‘needing to know if Yuri’s good enough, no matter what Beka says’. 

She sounds fierce. Otabek’s said so, too. The last child of a wrecked home: she’s learnt to protect what matters to her with teeth and claws. 

Yuri can’t wait to meet her. A part of him (Yuri’s most sensible part, Yuri reckons) wants to reply, to assure him everything’s alright; he just wants to be a part of Otabek and his sisters’ life, just as Leo is. 

Yet a part of him wants Otabek to hesitate, to wonder. To apologize. There’s nothing to apologize for, not really, but he feels abandoned, thrown to a side like a sick puppy, and someone’s gonna have to take the blame. Yuri knows he should just pick up the phone as it vibrates under the sheets. A part of him wants to understand; the other wants to punish. All of him just wants to surrender to the inviting warmth of the bed, to drift off and deal with all this shit in the morning. His phone keeps on ringing, but he’s already defeated, dreaming of holding Otabek in his arms once more.

* * *

 

They say “never go to bed angry”; they never say why.

Yuri wakes up covered in cold sweat, his whole body aching as if he’s just spent the entire night on the ice, restless. His mind has just ran through every possible scenario in which he’d break Otabek’s heart just for the sake of it. A knot tightens in his gut, as he reminds himself it’s just a dream. Watching himself smiling and walking out as Otabek keeps reaching out to him was just a dream. Just a horrible nightmare.

Yet the unread texts on his phone greet him with a slap to his face. Each one more concerned than the one before. Until it faded over,  _ I guess we’ll talk some other time,  _ and the lump in Yuri’s throat becomes heavier, like a foot stomping right onto his trachea, lungs fighting to get some air. It’s a text, harmless as any other, as all of those he sent, just asking if he was okay. 

Yuri just wants to crawl back in bed and bury himself under the sheets. 

It’s too early for Otabek to get off practice for lunch yet, too early to listen to his reasons. Too early for Yuri to find some. He can’t just text him that he felt lonely, can he? That’s fucking clingy. He’s nothing like that; not a sappy disgusting lovebird like Viktor is. 

He’s not but he would jump into the plane in a second if Otabek asked right now. As he did before. If he only knew what to say to make Otabek ask him back.

Yuri relies on the old ‘Fell asleep, sorry’ excuse they both know is a lie, but Otabek isn't there to read it yet. He’s got a bit of time still to get his head in the right place.

But it keeps on swimming between the idea of Leo nestled against Otabek’s chest in their bed, videocalling Zhamila to talk about their day together, even as awful, as filled with smoke and booze and depravation and bruises and. It still was a familiarity he couldn’t achieve, a sense of home he’s barely felt for a night before it got ripped away from him. Fuck distance and fuck Otabek’s past and all the things Yuri’s still yet to know. 

He’s not willing to show himself to Otabek like this, scars bleeding to the sun, papercuts in front in his boyfriend’s own stigmata. He’s a warrior. He’ll play his part.

Otabek doesn’t need to know about his nonsensical insecurities. But someone’s gonna have to take the bullet. The only someone available. 

_ < Oi, what’s with you and the baby sister? _

Let’s just hope Leo answers quickly. 


	2. Chapter 2

> _ i know you havent checked but its late here man _

_ I can’t possibly give less of a fuck _ is the first reply that pops up into his head, but Yuri refrains himself from texting back right away, dropping his phone at the bottom of his bag and getting ready for the ice instead. Mila eyes him from the other side of the rink but goes back to practice as soon as Yakov yells at them to get with their routines. 

He’s supposed to start slow, circling around the ice to warm up. Not skating like a madman, speeding up into a sloppy toe loop that doesn’t even get enough rotations to be a quad. Not releasing his fury onto the ice as if it was to blame somehow; as if the rink would have told him how far he is from Otabek still, reminding him all the parts of Otabek Yuri doesn’t know yet. 

He prepares to jump at full speed, kicks the ice and stumbles forward. It’s not like they’re not trying; it’s not like Otabek isn't trying. They’re spending as much of their free time as possible with one another, talking as honestly and openly as possible. Even when that means Yuri has to endure Otabek grabbing the covers of his bed underneath his laptop so forcefully his knuckles turn white and his hands starts shaking at late night Skype calls. Almost as if he was about to rip them to pieces, if that what it takes to be honest to Yuri. The details they try not to mention just pop up from time to time, and no matter how many times Yuri reassures him there’s no need, Otabek refuses to ignore them, to lie again. He refuses to shut Yuri out, even when all he has to offer is a blood soaked battleground, shaken and filled with debris they try to pick up together. And still Yuri prefers the pain of knowing to the solitude of being left out.

He wants to know. He  _ needs  _ to know. 

He doesn't even notice what his body’s doing, slashing the ice more than gliding against it. All grace and beauty out of the window; only his fury remains, drawing deep cuts at each step. He stumbles but stays up once, twice. He can hear Yakov shouting at him to cool down but there's no point: calmness and patience aren't gonna teach him anything. They aren't gonna help and he can't stop wondering what will. He readies himself for an Axel; Otabek does them so beautifully. He rises up but his blades aren't the first to touch the ice back down. He closes his eyes as he sees himself falling on his side, the ice each second closer to his face, and prepares for the cold sharp blow on his face. 

It never comes, or at least, he doesn't feel it. The sudden jolt of pain crawling from his hand up where his wrist had landed on the rink in an awkward angle, all his bodyweight focused on that little point. 

He kneels but his head starts swimming, his vision clouded more by rage than by the fall. He hears voices but can't quite decipher the words.

“Yuri!” Mila skates by his side in a minute but there’s only one thing on his mind and it’s not quite himself, not his wrist, not the tripping on his own feet.

It wasn’t a dream, not entirely. He did hurt Otabek. He needs to fix it. 

He needs to leave. 

Yuri skates out of the rink and allows Mila to join him, helping him change shoes as the medic on the rink checks his wrist, twisting it one way and the other. He winces but doesn't pull away, not until his sneakers are in place. Not until they ask. 

It's not an accident a gold medalist would have. Not a fall worthy of him.

_ Where the hell is your head at? _

He snaps his hand out of the doctor's grasp and swings his bag over his shoulder, running to the exit before anyone can stop him. He doesn't give a shit if the people at the rink start talking; he can't care about anything right now. Nothing but Otabek and how he fucked up, and how can he make it better if his head won't stop repeating it'll never happen. They'll never be close enough for Yuri to feel safe. Love is just not enough. 

He hides in the first alley he can find and fumbles around his bag, searching for his phone. Both texts from this morning were answered, and he has to remind himself to breath before checking what Otabek has to say. How disappointed he might sound.

 

> _ Don’t apologize. Sorry I couldn’t call you last night. Are you OK? _

His stomach tightens and twists; Yuri covers his mouth to stop himself from visibly gagging in the middle of the street. From sobbing like a fucking baby. 

Otabek feels guilty. Guilty of Yuri’s whining. 

He opens up the second unread conversation, hoping silently for a way to rip the lump off his throat that grows bigger every time he thinks of the thing Otabek and Leo share he still doesn’t quite understand. He just needs the sense of isolation to step off his chest, to let him breathe again. 

_ > 7pm your time. Facetime. Let me show you a thing _

He’ll probably never understand how Leo functions, no matter what Otabek might say, anyways. 

And still it relieves him somehow.

* * *

 

Yuri shifts on his bed and a jolt of pain runs through his arm as he leans on his hands. Wrong fucking hand; he forgot. He jumped in the shower before bed to ease up the pain a bit, but it still doesn't quite ease up his mind, still throbbing too much for Yuri to actually have gotten any rest at all. This must be what ‘slapping some sense into himself’ feels like. 

It takes him a minute to realize the banging noise comes not from his head, but from the other side of the door. Weird: Lilia’s home and she especifically said Yuri shouldn’t entertain any visitors, or move from his bed at all, just in case whatever mental breakdown he had (not quite her words, but Yuri knows that’s exactly what she meant)  might provoke any other accidents. She said she wouldn’t even try to wake him up before dinner. 

And even if it were Lilia, that aggressive knocking is definitely not her style at all. Yuri scowls and walks the couple of feet to unlock the door, throwing himself against his mattress again without even checking who’s behind it. The pillows feels sticky and moist for sleeping in without drying his hair, but he only growls instead of actually moving away. 

The door opens; he follows the sound of footsteps looming closer but doesn’t bother looking up until the mattress dips under the new weight and a hands caresses his hair. Softly untangling the knots. Delicately. Lovingly. 

Just as Otabek would.

He sits up so fast on the bed, propped onto his hands, his whole body protests; partially from the injury, but also from all the breaks he skipped during the week. He’s exhausted, and it gets to him, sitting completely still waiting for the pain to fade. Yuri doesn’t need to lift up his gaze to know it can’t possibly be  _ him _ , yet he’s still taken aback when he finally lays eyes on her. 

Mila’s staring without moving an inch, the hand that was petting his hair now pulled against her chest. She takes a minute before speaking, concerned. “Yurotchka, are you alright?”

“ _ No. _ ” He hisses and leans back only to clash against the headboard hard enough to make him wince. “I fucked up. Like a fucking newbie.”

“And that,” she reaches out to boop his nose with her index finger as he threatens to bite it off, “is exactly why I’m asking. You don’t make mistakes like that.” Mila’s voice lowers down an octave. “Do I have to have a word with Mr. Altin?” 

“No!” Yuri replies much louder that he’d have gone for and looks away. “It’s not on him, It’s just- Ugh! I’m such a fucking idiot.” He covers his face with his hands and throws himself back only to be stopped by the headboard with a loud thump again. “Fuck this shit bed!” 

“Hey, hey, hold on,” Mila holds him tight against her chest and Yuri struggles to get out only for a second. He feels the pinpricks of tears at the corners of his eyes, the knot tightening in his throat, but refuses to give in. Mila just caresses his back softly, cradling him and there’s not enough pain in his wrist to convince him to pull away. “Talk to me, Yuri, go on.” 

He breaks down at the sound of her voice, the touch of her lips against the top of his head. He’s not sobbing, not just yet, but his voice still quivers. “It’s just- there’s so much! And I’m trying, but- but- “

He can’t keep going: he feels his lungs struggling to get some air, gasping so deep his chest hurts. He doesn’t need to say anymore either; there’s nothing to say. It’s all in his head, he knows. If only that could be enough to make it all feel any less real. 

He realizes he’s actually crying when the soft humming against his scalp raises up a bit to cover the muffled pathetic sounds coming out of the him, the ringing in his ear. He pulls away to rub his eyes dry furiously and Mila just lets him go, her hand falling flat on her lap. 

“Oh, Yuri, sweetie.“ He looks up to search for some trace of mockery in her eyes, but finds none. Only a tinge of sadness clouding her smile. “You’re overwhelmed, it happens. To the best of us, even. It’s okay.” She squeezes Yuri’s shoulder slightly. “What did  _ he  _ say about it, anyways?”

He flinches suddenly as if her palms were blazing coals against his bare skin. “Why-I didn’t  _ tell him anything.  _ Why would I?” He scoffs, swallowing hard to try to gulp down the words trapped in his throat. “It’s all in my head, I know it is.” His hands fidget, fingers picking on the skin around his nails as he looks down. “He’s got his own shit going on, he doesn’t need mine.”

“Oh, sweetie.” Mila pulls him hardly into a hug again, so tight he can barely breath against her body. “I know, Yuri, but he  _ needs _ to know. That’s how relationships work. He cares about you.” 

“Well.” He tries to push himself away from her and she only negotiates enough room for them to stare into each other’s eyes. “I think he’s got enough on his plate right now.” He scowls and looks away, pissed at himself more than at her for suggesting it. 

It’s stupid: he doesn't need to talk about it. He doesn’t need Otabek’s validation; Yuri  _ knows _ Otabek loves him. Of course he does; he’s let him into his mess of a life willingly, despite Viktor’s nonsense and all. He knows Otabek cares, he knows Leo’s just a friend as much as (eugh) Viktor and Katsudon are to himself. 

He doesn’t  _ need  _ Otabek to tell him they’re meant to be together or some cheesy shit like that; he knows it’s all fine, but they’re just so far away from each other. It almost feels like a fever dream, like a mirage drifting as the sand runs through his fingers. 

“Well, he took you in, so he’s got  _ you _ on his plate as well.” Mila practically scolds him and Yuri can’t help but pout like a little child. He wants to be there for Otabek, not to be a fucking nuisance to him. 

He’s supposed to be the fire lifting him up, not the weight that keeps him grounded. He’ll never allow it. “It’s my own problem, baba. I can deal with it on my own.”

“Of course you can, you’re the fucking Ice Tiger.” Again, he looks for any indicators of a joke and he only finds pride. “That doesn’t mean you  _ have to. _ ” She reaches out to put a strand of Yuri’s hair behind his ear, letting her fingers run along the line of his jaw to cup his chin firmly. “Yuri, look at me.” He lifts his eyes to meet Mila’s and the softness of her gaze sinks on his chest like a kick to the gut. She’s actually concerned. He’s worrying everyone by being a little crybaby; now he’s even gotten Mila into it as well. “You’re not alone; you know that. It’s the whole point of it, isn’t it?” Yuri tries to avoid her eyes but she keeps him firmly in place. “Now, I want you to take your phone out and  _ tell him. _ No beating around the bush.” She lets him go, yet Yuri could swear he still feels her grip on him; there’s no way out of it but hers. Then again, maybe her way isn’t so terrible. 

He huffs in complaint and searches around the covers for his phone. There’s a new message from Otabek, because of course there is: he’s dragged everyone and their mother into his own mess and now he’s gotta find the way to pull them all out. 

_ > Yura, are you alright? Mila said you had an accident on the rink.  _

He fucked himself up and now he’s even worried Otabek. He’s just doing everything right today, isn’t he? 

He scoffs. Types. Erases. Sighs. 

He looks up to see Mila scowling at him, arms crossed over her chest; shit, he’s not getting out of it. He takes a deep breath and types almost with his eyes closed, clicking send before he can even think about it. And again. 

_ < i guessi got jealous yesterday. Itw as astupid fall, im fine _

_ < i miss u. Im sorry _

Otabek should be training right now, yet the text appears as seen almost immediately. As if he was waiting by his phone for any news regarding Yuri. “You fucking idiot,” Yuri mutters, yet a smile creeps up shyly to his face.

He gets a reply in no time. Two, in fact. Funny: Otabek never double texts. 

_ > Don’t apologize, just try not to break yourself to prove your love for me. I promise I believe you.  _

The dick is making fun of him! He’s got some fucking nerve! Yuri’s about to deliver some well deserved fucking justice when he reads the second text, just in case. 

_ > I miss you too. Let’s talk tonight, no excuses this time. OK? _

Fucking idiot. Fucking sappy idiot who makes Yuri feel all fuzzy and tingly and warm and wanting to run all across the fucking continent to hug him again. 

He tries to play it cool. 

_ < tonight it is then _

And that doesn’t mean Otabek gets out of it just like that. 

_ < ure still a dick tho _

_ > I love you too, Kitten.  _

Yuri realizes he’s smiling like an idiot mostly because of Mila cackling as background noise. Damn it, she’s not gonna let him live this down anywhere soon. Fucking sappy idiot. 

And fuck Otabek as well. 


	3. Chapter 3

It takes him a while and a good amount of promises not to take his brace off to ditch her, but finally Mila leaves and Yuri gets some rest. Sort of. His Princess (the traitorous shit still prefers Otabek’s name for her) kept on rubbing her head against his bad hand and waking him up, but at least his mind has quieted down. At least Otabek doesn’t seem annoyed, though Yuri can’t quite figure out the tone in his words. Texting isn’t so telltale, after all. 

He tries to wash his troubled sleep off his eyes but it’s still obvious in the tangled mess of his hair and he answers Leo’s call, back in bed and with his laptop resting on his legs. 

“Hey, were you just sleeping? It’s early for that, man!” Leo waves at him, phone wobbling in his grip. 

“Why the fuck are you still at the rink? What time is it?” Yuri rubs his eyes and Leo giggles; he seems to be in a locker room of a rink still buzzing with people, judging by the muffled voices in the background. 

“Well, yeah, it’s noon here. Lunchtime.” Leo explains as if Yuri should already know, despite the fact the he doesn’t give two shit about time differences with Leo’s city at all. “But you sounded concerned so here I am.” The camera shakes and shifts as Leo seems to prop his phone up against something on the bench, and takes a seat on the floor. “So, talk to me. What’s the deal with Zhami?”

Yuri scoffs at the nickname. “None.” He looks away from the screen scowling and mutters his reply in between clenched teeth. “It’s not like  _ I know her _ or anything.”

“Is that it?” Leo laughs and Yuri suddenly feels the need to kick the idiot through the screen. Good for him that’s fucking impossible. “Are you jealous of Zhami?”

“I’m  _ not _ jealous, okay?” He snaps. “I just haven’t met her yet and you’re all buddy-buddy with her, calling her and shit and- and-” he starts babbling. Ranting. Fucking stuttering: his mind is a mess of incoherent tantrums and steam, and he can’t find a way to shut up. “And I don’t fucking know her! But you go ahead, and tell me Otabek loves me, he’s not the same guy with me, but then again you’re the one there -you’re always the one, and I haven’t even met the sister and I- I-”

“Look, calm down, alright?” Leo lowers his voice, speaking in a slow steady rhythm. “The Otabek I met was broken. I tried to keep him steady but he kept falling apart. So I did the only thing I could and helped him up every time, no matter if it was only for a day and he’d have another shitstorm coming and start hopping bars again. It wasn’t fun, it wasn’t adorable: I don’t need a medal for it.” His voice seems to quiver but he takes a deep breath before he keeps going. “You wouldn’t have liked to have been there. A lot of people have tried to approach him, trust me, but not many can deal with him. I just,” He smiles to repress a sob that comes out anyhow, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, “I just wanted to make him smile. And you- you do.” Yuri can see the sorrow clear in the sparkle of his eyes, yet there’s joy on Leo’s tone, there’s hope. “You can make him happy so easily; the  _ mention of your name _ can change his mood in a second. Funny how you’re jealous of me when I’ve always been jealous of what you could do to him. Without even acknowledging his existence, no less.” Leo laughs and waves a hand at the screen, diminishingly. “Not that I  _ wanted  _ him to love me the way he loves you, at all, but y’know. I just wanted to take him out of the mud, and it would’ve helped.” 

It’s like a slap on his face, a cold touch on his spine making him shiver. Yuri knows the story, he does, but forgets sometimes. That real life is not like in the movies and people don’t just laugh about having seen you come home black and blue and drunk out of your mind, knowing you’ll just do the same shit the night after. People don’t joke about shitty habits and lack of sleep, and getting used up by pretty much anyone who just happened to pass around. It doesn’t become a funny anecdote for dinner time; it’s painful, and it lingers. And Yuri should have kept his fucking mouth shut. They’re close, of course they’re close: Leo was probably the only thing that kept Otabek sane those couple of years, the only one brave enough to stay and try to get him back to reality. 

“Man, come on, it’s not a competition. You’ve got your place, I’ve got mine.” Leo rubs his eyes absentmindedly, as if he wasn’t actually trying to dry his tears, and grins back at Yuri. “And as much of a badass as she is, Zhami’s still a kid. She’s got curfews, you know. But,” He lifts his index finger as a warning. “She’s got a temper: and her word is the law. The girl  _ has  _ to like you.” Yuri winces for no reason and Leo giggles. “Don’t worry too much: she already does.” He lifts up his knee to prop his arm on top of it, leaning back. “Lesson number two: she’s as much of a musician as we are figure skaters.”

“Gold medal bass player?” Yuri snorts. Knowing her older brother, she must be incredibly good: the Altins don’t allow themselves to be defined by talent. They’re hard workers, and they’re strong as nails. They can always pull through. 

“Could be! Or gold medal  _ singer! The voice  _ of that girl, I’m telling you.” Leo starts gesturing wildly, flopping his arms around. “Who could have guessed such a powerful voice could come out of such a tiny person? You can almost feel it vibrating on the walls, like turning an amp at full blast on a small apartment. Like-”

“I get it. Nice voice. So?” Yuri interrupts just to make Leo get back on track. Otabek wasn’t exaggerating after all: the guy really is a music junkie, isn’t he? And he keeps on giggling at Yuri’s scowl, jumpy and ready to go on ranting. Yuri guesses two years living with Otabek must have fucked up his fear sensors and he’s virtually afraid of nothing by now. “What’s that have to do with me?”

“That’s how I met her. Apparently she saw the guitar on a picture or call or something.” Leo laughs and Yuri just has to roll his eyes. “Beks said he had to introduce us or she was gonna drive him insane.” 

“Well, guess what.” Yuri shrus. “I don’t have a guitar and I’m no fucking singer. I’m a skater. That’s it.” 

“Yeah but, like, we skate  _ to music _ , don’t we?” That’s some piece of logic Yuri definitely can’t fight. Leo giggles and glances over his phone. “Listen, they’re calling for me. But you know Creep, the Radiohead one? It was a birthday thing for him.”

“A what? What is that supposed to-?”

“Sorry. Have to go. Just ask!” Leo disconnects the call and leaves Yuri staring at a white screen, completely puzzled. 

What the hell does that mean? And how is he supposed to find out?  _ Ask him? _ Really? ‘Hey, I was just bitching with your former roomie about the baby sister you love and I haven’t even talked to..’ 

It’s ridiculous. And fucking embarrassing; in between yesterday’s fit and today’s mess he’s been shameful enough for a fucking lifetime, thank you. 

That reminded him: he’ll be talking to Otabek. In barely a couple of hours, after he’s already eaten and showered. 

Every time Yuri asks him why he never calls before so he has time for himself at night, to sleep at a reasonable hour even. Every time Otabek replies that Yuri is the last person he wants to see before going to bed and the first one he wants to say good morning to when he wakes up. That it’s worth it. 

Every time Yuri turns every shade of red and covers his face, swearing at Otabek for being such a cheesy fucker. And Otabek just laughs and says every sweet nonsense he can think of just to mortify him even more. 

Damn, he misses Otabek. Terribly. But he still dreads whatever stupid shit he’s capable of saying if he feels trapped; and he will feel trapped, that’s for sure. Leo intrigued him and now he can’t get that fucking song out of his head. Yuri’s just too good at talking shit. That’s one talent he’d like to give back right now. 

He pushes himself deeper under his covers and opens up every social media account he owns in order to distract himself; he’ll just have to wait and see.

* * *

 

> _ Call me? _

The notification startles Yuri awake; the laptop rings loudly at the same time the cellphone buzzes against his ear. He just has no choice. 

It still takes him a minute to wake up enough to read the message left on Skype. The name of the sender. The missed calls. 

To give in to panic as he realizes he has no idea what to say, how to even show his face to Otabek. How to apologize. He only knows he should, but if there’s one thing he was never good at…

He still clicks on the damned button. 

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty.” The greeting takes him aback. And the expression; is Otabek smirking at him? 

He’s about to protest when he sees himself in the tiny window: bedhead, full blush and his eyes still clouded with sleep. And he yawns for good measure. “Fuck off, I’m recovering.” He flashes the brace covering his wrist and Otabek’s smile falters, a shadow looming in his gaze.

“What was it, then?” Otabek leans forward, maybe to close the distance in between the two, as if they weren’t thousand of fucking miles apart. It only reminds Yuri how unreachable they are to each other. 

“Sprained wrist. I fell on it like  _ an idiot.”  _ Yuri emphasises and waits for a chuckle that never comes.

“Why?” Not only does he not laugh, Otabek seems really concerned. Yuri looks away: the penetrating stare burning through the screen. “You don’t trip on air, Yura, so why did you?” Otabek gives him a moment to reply but he just mouths like a fish out of the water, unable to find the right words. “What got you so distracted?”

“You did, okay?” Yuri blurts out, glaring at the camera as Otabek tilts his head in confusion... He drops back on his mattress and groans. ”Look, I was pissed at you for ditching me to talk to Leo and pissed at me for being pissed at you and- ugh!”

Now the chuckle definitely comes. And grows into a full laughter. Yuri’s about to scold Otabek when he sees the tenderness in his deep brown eyes. He’s relieved. “I’m sorry, alright?” Yuri sighs, his arms limp at his sides. “I was a fucking crybaby, I made a scene and,” he raises his busted hand, “I even hurt myself in the process. So yeah, laugh.”

“That’s not wha- Yura.” Otabek shakes his head, the smile still lingering. He’s adorable even when he’s scolding him and Yuri wishes he could concentrate on anything else but the curve of his brow and the twitch on the corner of his mouth. “I don’t find you getting hurt funny. It’s just…” Otabek chuckles shyly and lowers his gaze, biting his lip. “I was worried you were mad at me for yesterday.” Yuri has to bite his lip not to comment. Otabek’s embarrassed, all puppy eyed and averting his gaze. It breaks his heart to be the one to provoke such an expression from him, such shame. “In my defense, I didn’t want to be involved in that call, either.” 

“What was so important that you just  _ had _ to take it, then?” Yuri scoffs absentmindedly, trying to hide his frustration. He leans in closer, pushing away from the darkness of the room and already guesses the praises Otabek has the decency to murmur far from the laptop’s microphone. It’s like the words just blurt out of him with no restraint whatsoever; Otabek does it all the time, randomly. They might be talking about a performance, a new tune, a fucking hoodie; it doesn’t matter, Otabek always finds the most awkward time to spill out sweet nonsense to Yuri. In a way that feels so intimate, so honest, Yuri goes bright red in a second. 

Still, Otabek takes a moment to focus, fidgeting clearly under the reach of the camera. “They wanna record me. Both of them.” Otabek sighs loudly. “It was Leo’s idea, he always thinks of the stupidest things, but bringing my baby sister into this...”

“You’re a performer, Beka. What’s so terrible about it?” Otabek looks away at the sound of Yuri’s words, pouting like a little kid; a few long strands of damp hair clinging to his forehead. It’s adorable, it’s fucking captivating. But it’s also suspicious. “What do they want you to do?” Silence. Yuri’s never good to let a secret be; he needs to poke until he gets either an answer or a bite back. “Beka…”

“ _ I can’t sing, _ Yura.” Otabek snorts and Yuri can tell he’s mortified. “I mean, I do sing, sure, because she asks me to and I can’t possibly say no to that but- but- it’s terrible. Of course it is. Why would I have to get fucking  _ recorded _ ?” Otabek’s frustrated, nervous and justifying himself just for the sake of it. It’s so endearing. Yuri can’t decide to take Otabek’s side and calm him down, or theirs.

Curiosity’s a strong hold on him. 

“Well, I mean, I heard you liked this Radiohead one…” He throws out like he’s talking about the weather. Smooth, Plisetsky. 

Otabek laughs, still blushed and holding his gaze for only a couple of seconds at the time, but definitely there. “Let me guess. Leo?” Yuri freezes and the temperature in the room suddenly raises a hundred degrees up. Otabek chuckles again. “Of course Leo. I’m quite proud of that one, actually. But,” he pauses for effect, a smug smirk on his lips, “I wasn't singing.” 

Yuri has to just laugh at that one. Otabek’s trying to be clever and funny despite he’s embarrassed as hell and avoiding the challenge like a champ. He sighs. “I guess I have to settle for Baby Sister, then.”

“Trust me, that’s never settling down.” Otabek grins and stifles a yawn behind his palm; it must be getting close to midnight and he’s stayed up only to speak to Yuri despite the long day training. And whatever idea he had about Yuri’s childish tantrum. “I’m not sure if the video still exists somewhere. Someone has to have it.” He looks down, focused on the screen as his hands start typing quick against the keyboard. 

“Make it your homework then, but for now go to bed, you’re exhausted, Beka.” 

“Yeah,” Otabek smiles tiredly, “long day today.” He sighs loud and stares right into Yuri. “I’m just glad you’re alright.” 

Yuri feels his chest tighten, his cheeks turning school-girl pink again; He’d swear he just broke a fever. “We could’ve just texted so you could sleep, you dork.”

Otabek pouts and Yuri quietly coos and presses his lips tight. It was too low for the mic to pick it up, wasn’t it? Still, he’d kiss that pout off his face in a second. If only he could. “But I wanted to  _ see you _ to make sure you were okay.” His voice lowers in embarrassment. Or hurt, probably. Whatever it is, Otabek looks at Yuri through thick black lashes like a kid being scolded. “I miss you, Yura. I’d call you every morning and every night just to feel like I’m waking up beside you again.”

Yuri fails to keep his voice from quivering, his heart racing so much it feels likes it’s about to burst out of his chest. He death grips the covers, forcing himself to step away from the shit the sappy couples do, like blowing kisses at the fucking screen when they’re apart. It’s almost painful. “You’re cheesy as fuck, you know.” 

“I know,” Otabek turns his innocent smile smug, biting his lower lip, “and you love me, cheesy and all.”

“Go to bed, Altin.” Yuri huffs, trying to hide the grin starting to crawl into his face. “You’ve got shit to do in the morning.” 

“Yessir.“ Otabek salutes and Yuri snorts. “Goodnight, Kitten.”

“Goodnight, love.” Yuri replies automatically and stops dead in his tracks, eyes wide and ending the call before Otabek can say anything. 

What the fuck was that? Yuri does  _ not  _ do pet names. Ever. Mock names, sure, but  _ Love? _

Alright, fair enough: he didn’t do relationships either until Otabek, but come on. There’s a limit for everything. And his is definitely sounding like fucking Viktor. 

He knows he’s doomed when his laptop rings again with a new text on their Skype conversation.

_ > You’re adorable. _

He scoffs and closes his laptop shut to push over the bedside table, hiding under the covers. He’s not like the old geezer at all, all heart shaped smiles and swooning at every fucking step his Katsudon takes. He refuses to be that gross. It’s gut-wrenching and he won’t be a part of it. 

His mind goes back to the text and the fluttery thing in his stomach comes back, bigger than ever; Yuri buries his face against the pillow, knowing for a fact he’s grinning like an idiot just for thinking about Otabek and his shy smile telling him how much he loves him. 

Yuri’s fucked, isn’t he?


	4. Chapter 4

Yuri negotiates his staying on the ice the next morning, assuring Yakov he’s just fine; the loud cursing coming out of his room in the morning was just him forgetting about his busted wrist once or twice. He gets to stay but only for the morning, having to go to Lilia’s studio for whatever practice he could do without forcing his hand too much.

It’s the best he could get after a good amount of complaining; at least he’s not off practice completely for a foolish mistake. And after last night, his mind quieted down enough for Yuri to actually get a full night’s sleep after the hell hole it was the night before. Enough for Yuri to dream of the chill breeze of Almaty’s morning sneaking in through the jagged window, the pale blue sky behind the apartment buildings, the familiar warmth of Otabek’s skin against his under the covers, too real to be so fleeting The steady breathing against his collarbones, arms around his waist.

Yuri’s body moves automatically on the ice, eyes open only not to collide with any other skater but blind to the world around him; gliding on his blades as his head pictures his hands across Otabek’s torso, sliding down slowly to his hip; fingertips exploring the creases of his back, lowering to knead at his flesh, to push him further around Yuri, until they feel like one…

The morning goes out in a flash; Yakov even congratulates him for his focus. Yuri choose not to prove him wrong and just nods as he walks to the lockers. Yet he didn’t quite dodge the bullet yet.

“Yurio, that was beautiful!” Viktor coos right next to his ear, dropping onto the bench as Yuri unties his skates. “So honest and powerful!”

Yuri smiles, letting the long strands of hair cover the pride in his expression. “What do you want, geezer?” He wears his usual scowl by the time he lifts his eyes to look at Viktor, and of course, the guy’s fucking smiling at him. “It’s not even a routine, it’s just… stuff.”

To be honest, he thought about that step sequence before, even practiced it at home; but today is the first time he actually skated it. It wasn’t even long enough to be performed, either, but today’s version might perfectly be long enough to be considered a Short Skate Program.

Not that he’s got any music for it, either. Yuri got inspired both off and on the ice by the memory of Otabek fitting so perfectly around him, like two pieces of a puzzle. The tune’s theirs: sweet words whispered into his ears and soft moaning echoing on the room. The lower tones of secrecy in a slow adagio, murmured into one another; and the high andante of giggling, twisting and toying under the covers, shouted out for the world to hear.

It’s their melody alone. It’s meant only for them both.

“Did Lilia teach you that? It’s so captivating! Like agape with a twist of ferocity, or an Eros ready to soften down and melt around their lover.” Viktor presses both hands to his own chest, eyes closed and daydreaming. “What was your theme for it?”

“None,” Yuri replies dryly, getting ready to get the fuck out. He throws his bag over his shoulder. “And Lilia didn’t make it.” He steps out for good measure and continues when he’s sure he’s too far to be hugged or something. “I did.”

He struts out, hurrying his step just in case, and hands trembling with the adrenaline of it all. What the fuck was that? It’s barely a bit of a sequence. Viktor couldn’t have possibly decipher a theme in that; he must have been bluffing. There's no way it’s so obvious the dance was about Otabek and Yuri’s devotion towards him, his need for him.

There’s no way Viktor could have guessed it was about Otabek at all.

But Yuri’s definitely not risking it by turning back and asking; that’s out of the question. He’s got a schedule to follow, after all.

 

* * *

 

He's got praised choreography and no music to go with it. He's even thought of where to put this jump or that spin; it's impeccable, intimate, an unmistakable part of himself. Even Lilia praised it and if there's something she doesn't do it’s kissing people's asses; it means something. It means the world to him: a free skate program made entirely by him that could get him a gold. And he's got no music to go with it.

He drops his bag at the feet of his unmade bed and himself on his back on the mattress, scowling at the ceiling. It could be fucking perfect. If only he how it should sound like. How hey sound like together; how the melody their hearts beating at unison sounds like. Because it’s not about lust, not about wanting: Yuri knows there’s so much more than that, though he can’t quite figure out what it is. Fuck, Viktor understood it better than himself, and not even he could give it a name. It’s intoxicating, fulfilling, even dizzying; like a maelstrom of sensations roaring inside of Yuri every time he skates the routine. Every time he thinks of Otabek. And every time there's something underlying, at his heels, chasing him. A shadow that pales around Otabek’s deep stare, that vanishes against the delicate touch of his fingers; a shadow that pulls Yuri down the minute they’re apart for good, like an eclipse of life, the blink of an eye that never truly ends until Otabek wakes him up again. 

It’s bittersweet, that much he knows. But it’s too new to him to word it, to use it as a theme, If Yuri could choose, he’d call it ‘why the fuck do you have to live so damn far away?’ but he’s pretty sure the judges won’t allow him that. And Lilia and Yakov would  _ freak. _

He groans, stretching on his bed, when his phone rings. He’s not in the mood to talk to anyone right now, tired and with his mind buzzing for answers, but he won’t let go of the chance to spite someone by reading their texts and not answering right away. Especially Viktor. Yuri hopes it’s Viktor.

_ > I did my homework. _

Yuri’s not familiar with the number and the profile’s hidden: no nickname, no picture. All he can see is the text and a five minute video attached to it that he clearly refuses to download. 

Calling it suspicious would be saying too little. Have the Angels finally managed to leak his phone number? Should he tell Yakov? Is he as fucked as he’s starting to think he is? The least he can do, he assumes, is ask. 

 

_ < and who tf would u be? Do i know u _

 

_ > No need. I know you, Plisetsky. _

 

Definitely not an Angel; they would have gone for ‘Yurotchka’ instead of ‘Plisetsky’. And they’re mostly teenagers; none use correct punctuation when they write. Well, let’s be honest, no one in the civilized world, only literature teachers, Yakov when he’s not pressing extra letters out of rage, and Otabek. There’s not even one emoji in the text; it just can’t be one of his fans. 

Which only makes it all so much creepier. 

By the quick follow up text, they’re right by their phone as well. 

_ > Play the thing?  _

Curious. What could any stranger want to send  _ him _ of all people? It might be some dirt they might have on him? But he has nothing to hide: he fucks up loud enough for everyone to hear every time. He’s a reknown troublemaker, sure, but no one gets to blackmail him that way. 

Maybe it’s some shit to wipe his phone off? Isn’t that some sci-fi bullshit? He’s being paranoid now…

Maybe it’s just something utterly disgusting. As simple as that. But they  _ know _ him, so it’s not a random chain text. Someone thought of him enough to send him a video of whatever the fuck that is. And that’s not even what confuses him the most: it’s the way the text is worded. Not many people (that he knows of) ask for things that way, making it sound more like a question than a request. In fact, he can think of only one. One person that also has the Kazakhstan country code in their number. 

Curious. 

He might just click on that video, after all


	5. Chapter 5

Yuri turns on his laptop without even bothering to take a seat; he slams his elbows on the desk to press ‘call’. He can’t give less of a fuck if Otabek’s busy or not right now: he’ll have to pick it up. Yuri’s way too excited to stop himself; he just  _ has _ to tell Otabek about it. 

Who looks startled when he answers, his hair down and damp clutching on his bare shoulders. Yuri’s breath catches in his throat; he tells himself it’s because of the concern on Otabek’s brow and not the vision that is his boyfriend freshly out of the shower, dripping wet and most likely completely naked. He does live alone, after all. 

“Is there something wrong, Yura?” Otabek asks, running a towel through his soaking wet hair. “Are you alright? You seem upset.”

Yuri means to call him down, but the buzz running down his spine reacts faster than he does; making him unable to control the words pouring out of his mouth. “ _ No, I’m not alright. _ ” He scoff and lets himself fall on the desk chair, crossing his arms in front of his body. “When were you planning to show me that?”

“Show you what?” Otabek sighs, relaxing the frown but still shaken somehow. Might be because he just jumped out of the shower to pick up a cal he thought urgent. Well, in Yuri’s mind it is, anyways.

“And why like that, anyways? Since when do you have another number, Beka?” Yuri continues before Otabek can say a thing. “Y’know, I’m not a jealous person and all, but that’s fucking suspicious.” Otabek snorts and Yuri knows exactly why but he says nothing. He might be  _ a bit _ jealous, fine. He might have tried to fight a guy or two for staring at his boyfriend’s ass at the clubs he works in. But that was completely justified: those guys were creeps, and he just  _ needed _ to do something. “You could have just showed me; I thought you were proud -”

“Yuri, stop.” Otabek barely raises his voice but it’s enough for Yuri’s to hide away. He knows he doesn’t mean to yell, it’s just a way to talk over his rant. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, I haven’t texted you since lunch.” Yuri tilts his head to the side, confused. That was a Kazakh number, and not from any of his friends. And it was the video Otabek promised. It just makes sense. “I don’t have a second phone, Yura. What was the number?”

He types in the number, his phone in one hand, still muttering in between his teeth barely loud enough for the mic to pick it up. “It had to be you, it makes sense, who else could it be? I mean -”

“Kitten, my love.” Yuri lifts his eyes to see an amused, maybe even relieved, Otabek slouching down on his couch, the corners of his mouth barely twitching upwards as if he was trying hard not to laugh. “I know that number.” 

Yuri glares at him. This is no time for laughing: someone Otabek knows just texted him out of nowhere. And sent him a video he just found out it existed last night. And they had to have taken his phone from Otabek’s phone. With all the thing Otabek must have saved there;  _ all of the pictures. _ It’s no laughing matter. “What are you laughing at, asshole?”

“What did she text you?” Otabek says in between chuckles, crossing his legs tragically covered with a towel up to his knees. “No, don’t tell me; better yet.” He peers over the camera. “I’ll ask her.”

Yuri lifts a brow at him but doesn’t get the chance to reply before Otabek shouts at someone behind the screen. Yuri recognizes only one of the words; he’s heard it before, whispered into his ear, arms draped around his middle and a steady warm breath tickling right above his collarbone. He knows exactly what it means. “Who’s there with you, Beka?” He tries to sound merely curious but his tone is closer to venom dripping out of his tongue. He’s not a jealous guy, he repeats himself; he won’t make a scene just because Otabek has someone in his apartment who he calls ‘sweetheart’. While he’s sitting on the couch wearing nothing but a towel. Must be a really close someone. And Yuri’s definitely  _ not  _ gritting his teeth at all right now. 

Otabek opens his mouth to speak but two dainty hands fall on his shoulders hard enough (or sneaky enough) to make him visibly flinch. “Did I scare you, Plisetsky?” A small teenage girl smiles at him but there’s no joy on her expression; there’s an unsaid challenge. 

He recognizes her in a second and scowls at her just to hide how intimidating she can actually be in person. “What’s with the Altins and calling people by their last names? You’re not even big enough to pull out the thug act, girlie.” Truth be told, young and small as she is, there's something inherently terrifying about her. It’s funny, the siblings aren’t either particularly big or loud but there’s an air about them that warns you not to mess with them. 

“Don’t call me ‘girlie’, I can kick your ass anytime.” She taunts and Otabek frowns, pouting at the camera. He looks about to jump in but Yuri won’t allow it. He can defend himself; she’s a fucking fifteen year old brat, for fuck’s sake. 

“You weigh like 20 kilos drenched to the bone, are you fucking kidding me?” 

“Maybe, but I know how to use them- ”

“Okay, children, stop it. Both of you.” Otabek raises a hand to emphasize his point and the girl closes her mouth shut, muttering something Yuri can’t quite catch under her breath. “You do realize I can hear you, right? Don’t make me put a leash on you two.” 

Yuri turns bright red and looks away, huffing to hide the gesture. His mind needs to get out of the fucking gutter; that’s his baby sister over there! Zhamila only scoffs and rolls her eyes. “You know what you could put on?” She pokes at his head with her finger. “ _ Clothes.  _ That’d be a great start.”

Otabek looks down at his only piece of fabric covering him and sighs instead of getting embarrassed as Yuri would expect. It’s almost adorable how relaxed and carefree Otabek is around his sister, his usual mask of stoicism long forgotten. Of course he won’t say that aloud: it’d make him sound like (Eugh.) Viktor. 

“Fine.” Otabek finally speaks, “but only if you promise to behave.” He stares at Yuri, who can’t help but lower his gaze like a scolded child.

“Yes, brother, we’ll be good. Now go.” His sister, however, couldn’t care less judging by her nonplussed expression. She pushes him away as Otabek gets up, a hand firmly grabbing the knot on the towel.  

Yuri knows there’s some bitchy comment incoming; he almost expects something of the lines of ‘you stole my brother from me’ swirled up in hurtful words and a cute tone so Otabek won’t come running. Aika has taken him in in no time, but Zhamila seems to be much more protective of him, uncurling her claws when anyone comes too close. 

Instead she waits until Otabek closes a door behind him to jump onto the couch and cross her legs over the cushions, lowering her voice to a whisper. “So,” she starts, giving him time to raise the volume on his laptop, “you never answered.”

“What exactly do I have to answer?” He looks at her wary, but she doesn’t budge, her gesture more bored than telltale in any way. Must be a family thing.

“How did you like the video?” she replies slowly, her lips barely twisting upwards. 

Of course. The video.  _ Their performance _ . He’s put it aside to fight a little girl:  _ that  _ little girl, no less. His boyfriend’s beloved baby sister.  [ The tiny Altin with the surreal powerful voice ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TBwr64aaTEI) that shook him to the core, even through a years old grainy video, oversaturated with cheers and applause. Otabek was, what, fifteen back then? That makes her eleven. Eleven years old and standing in the middle of an ice rink, in front of a microphone and singing her heart out. Their heart out: some dude on the audience commented Otabek picked the theme and she picked the song arrangements. It was emotional, honest, bare. It was all Yuri wants his program to be and yet he has no music for it. 

“It was perfect. Unbelieveable. Fucking otherworldly.” The words slip out of him as he closes his eyes, visualizing it again in his head: the soft falsetto ripping off the sudden silence, Otabek sliding sideways over the ice, one leg stretched back and one bent in front of him while both leather clad hands touch the cold surface, one reaching out to her as if he was drifting  [ apart. ](http://www.nagyerdeikorisok.com/Tricks/h_spiderman.gif)

“I know, and it was  _ so much fun.” _ she drops the façade to sit right at the edge of the cushions, her eyes sparkling with admiration and she daydreams. “You have any idea how praised he was for that? And he didn’t wanna show anyone! Such an idiot!”

She forgot about her grudge against Yuri soon enough, he reckons, but he’ll do nothing to remind her of it either. “Of course he did, that was live music. And in perfect synch with the routine, That’s quite a fucking achievement!” and it was: it was like they were both the same person, Otabek’s body resonating around Zhamila’s voice, retreating when she pulled away, a longing high note lingering in the air, and pushing back with full force as she roared on the microphone, her lithe figure darkened by the magnificence of her melody. There was a piano track in the background, he remembers; after the first verse it didn’t really count anymore. 

He wonders what the theme was to choose such a heart breaking song; how much of that theme Otabek had to put Zhamila through to get such a powerful performance. 

“And it was so much work to put it together too, but it was too good.” She bites her lips, shooting her gaze up and suddenly she looks like just as much of a dreamer as her brother does when he talks about his new programs, about his music. That’s passion: hers are music and her family. And she loves both so deeply. “The theme was sad and the rehearsal a bit emotional, but -” Her voice loses that entitled tone, turning suddenly so childlike, so innocent. “But it was all worth it, wasn’t it?” she looks down for the briefest of moments to turn to him again, “That was raw and honest. That was our best and our best was beautiful.”

She sounds a lot like him: she’s fierce and determined. She’s got fire within her. But there’s one thing she doesn’t share with her brother: she never hesitates. Zhamila’s probably gone through her own deal of shit, having defended Otabek against their parents’ words, and the opinion of the world around them, but he never looks down. She’s a pillar, unbreakable, tough as fucking nails no matter what. She was  _ his _ pillar; Yuri can see it now. She’s fifteen and she’s admirable. 

Yuri should have known better instead of expecting a common rage fit from her: she’s just protecting her brother as she probably has done before her own way. Yuri can’t help but ask himself how much of Otabek’s nights is she aware of. Maybe she got the dirty details and that’s why she doesn’t trust anyone Otabek shares a bed with. Maybe she only knows the pain, and that’s enough. It’d be enough for Yuri if he was in her position. He’s keyed Mila’s ex boyfriends’ cars for much less, after all. 

“That it was. Fuck, it was: the languid moves, the combination spin in the crescendo... Christ, that fucking crescendo, that  _ voice _ . I wasn’t even there and I could feel the walls shaking. It almost brought -”  _ Let’s stop right there,  _ Yuri considers. Confessing he actually cried while watching the last chorus will not help his case at all. 

The girl only tilts her head, not understanding why he shut up mid-sentence, but she doesn’t ask either. Instead, she lets a little conspiratory smirk crawl into her face. “You know where that voice come from? Who was the first one to teach me how to sing?” Yuri can already guess the answer but he’s starting to like the confidentiality of it all. She’s trying to let him in. and remembering what Otabek said about  _ the call _ the other night, he can already guess why, but it still feels somehow intimate. 

“Surprise me.” He sounds smug, more than he’d like, but it works: she giggles and promptly covers her mouth, stealing a glance to the closed door just to check Otabek hasn’t heard them yet. 

“I’ll text you a tune. It’s gorgeous and I already learnt it. He loves it too.” She grins again, open and bright, just like her big brother. “Ask me how I know.”

“Fine, I’ll bite.” Yuri rolls his eyes, mockingly,  unable to stop the smile from forming. “How do you know?” 

She takes her time to answer, focused on the sounds coming out of the room; Yuri can’t hear a thing but she suddenly goes quiet and sits upright, like a dog on the hunt. When she speaks again, she does so closer to the mic and even lower than before. “He sings it a lot. While he’s cooking, every time it appears on his playlist.” She chuckles and sits back, flashing a conceited smile. “He loves it.”

He laughs, more out of shock than actual amusement. That’s one thing he needs to see: Otabek singing and maybe swaying his hips a bit to a tune playing only in his head as he holds a pan over the stove. He wonders it it’s something upbeat and silly, or maybe something deep, grungy as the kind of playlists he showed Yuri from his phone.

He doesn’t get a chance to ask, however; Otabek comes back soon enough and Zhamila moves to the corner of the couch to bury her face on her phone. Her brother just quirks a brow at her, still talking to Yuri. “Is everything alright?” He’s wearing his team’s gym pants and the image in Yuri’s head rapidly adapts to it; he looks away for a second, just in case. 

The phone vibrates on Yuri’s desk, and he turns to the girl at the corner of his screen, who tilts an eyebrow (damn, they’re family alright) and barely smiles before lifting her knees up to close up on herself as she keeps her eyes on the device in her hand. 

“Yes.” Yuri finally replies.”Just fine. Wanna do your things and we’ll talk later?”  

“Y-yeah, sure. It’s only dinner... “ Otabek runs his hand through his hair, suspicious. “Are you sure everything’s fine?”

“Yeah, you go do your things.” Yuri smiles as he glances down to his phone. An almost five minute audio track is waiting right there for him to listen; this is some homework he’s more than willing to do. “Text me and I’ll call you back when you’re free, alright?”

“Okay,” Otabek’s tone is still unsure, but he attempts a smile nonetheless. “Later, Yura.”

“Bye, Beka.” He get closer to the mic and raises his voice to try and get Zhamila’s attention. “Goodnight, brat.”

She grins as smugly as before, the cuteness admiration injected into her expression completely erased. “Nighty night, wimp.”

Otabek only sighs and turns at her, breathing out a soft resigned ‘really?’; Yuri chuckles as he hangs up. 

The girl’s not bad. Not bad at all. She’s quite a piece of work. Must be a family thing.

And he’s got homework to do before calling Otabek again; he’d better get on it.


	6. Chapter 6

“What was all that about, exactly?”

Yuri was expecting a bit of an interrogation scenario, sure, but quite that straightforward. Then again, Otabek isn't one to beat around the bushes. If anyone has to be, it has to be Yuri. “What was what about?”

“Yura, I know her.” Otabek sighs, leaning back on the headboard. He's exhausted but tries hard to keep his eyes open. “She doesn't just go from feisty hellspawn to playful puppy in a matter of minutes. She likes you.” Yuri frowns, trying to understand. Wasn’t that the whole point? Otabek reacts before he can add anything. “Not that it bothers me: I _want_ you two to be friends, but… It’s quicker than I thought. It’s... “

He takes his time to choose the words but Yuri’s already squirming in his bed, tapping his finger against the side of the laptop nervously. Otabek couldn’t have magically found out what Zhamila texted him, could he? The siblings are close but they can’t possibly be _that close._ It’s not like they can read each other’s minds or anything.

“Okay, _fine_ , I got curious.” Yuri crosses his arms over his chest defensively and looks away; his Princess sits idly by his side, swishing her tail at him as if she was judging him. Damn traitor: always on Otabek’s side. He considers his boyfriend’s silence as a sign to keep talking so he explains himself further. Just in case he might get misunderstood: he most definitely did not just get played by a little kid into doing her bidding. “Your sister sings like an angel, and she and Leo want to make _you_ sing. They must have a reason.”

Otabek huffs, and Yuri thinks he can see a faint tint of pink on the tip of his ears. He’s flustered, throwing a tantrum like a child and _so fucking adorable._ “Can’t it be just to embarrass me? They do that pretty often already.” His pout fades as he chuckles, covering his face with his hands. “And it’s fucking working.”

“Well, I don’t know about Baby Sister but I’m sure Leo does it mostly without even meaning it. I mean, the guy is embarrassing as fuck as he is. I'm pretty sure he's the kind of guy that gets out of the bathroom in Batman trunks and dancing or something” Yuri jokes and Otabek lowers his hands to frown at him, unable to stop himself from cracking up the second after.

“If I had to compare him with Viktor Extra Nikiforov…”

“Oi, that’s cheating! He’s the very _definition_ of shameless!” Yuri replies in between chuckles. “And I’ve heard him sing.” He twists his face in horror. “You’d have nightmares, Beka. I know I have.”

He shrugs off a chill running down his spine theatrically and Otabek giggles, breaking into a laughing fit; he’s all teary eyes and flushed from the effort. Yuri can’t help but to follow him soon after.

“You’re playing  me, Yura.” Otabek lets slip the words in between giggles and gasps for air, a hand clutched to his stomach. “I can tell, you know.”

“Is it working?” Yuri tries his most charming smile, fluttery eyes and all, but pouts as Otabek only laughs again. “It’s not fair! I’m the only one who doesn’t know how you sing! And you can’t possibly be worse than Viktor anyways.”

Otabek suddenly stops to stifle a yawn and smile at him, eyes gleaming with sleep and yet so fond.

“Beka…”

“I love you.” He murmurs almost in a haze and snorts a second after. “Even when you try to play me, I love you.”

“You should already be sleeping, moron.” Yuri’s tone sounds too sweet to be as stingy as his words.

Yet Otabek pouts, looking at him through half lidded eyes he tries too hard to keep open. “May I look at you for a bit longer?”

“ _No._ Sleep, Beka.” Yuri tries to sound firm but it comes out much closer to a whine than a command. “We’ll talk in the morning, alright?”

“I miss you, Kitten.” The words slip out of Otabek’s mouth unconsciously. They always do at this time of the night: he tries too hard to stay awake for Yuri and rants about silly things about his day, and dumb comments. And how much he loves Yuri, over and over.

It always gets into Yuri’s skin. He sighs. “I miss you too, love, but you have to sleep. You can’t even keep your eyes open.” Otabek’s smile widens; Yuri knows exactly why. “I’m not getting ashamed of it, fuck it. Pet names might not be _that_ bad.” He murmurs the last sentence but Otabek still chuckles. Dammit. He yawns again, and takes his time to open his eyes. “Beka -”

“I know, I know.” Otabek tilts his head to look at him, and Yuri feels his gaze browsing over him, scanning every detail on his skin. He sits up, barely arching his back to give Otabek a better view, who only grins in reply. “You’re gorgeous, Kitten.” Yuri’s about to protest but Otabek cuts him short. “We’ll talk in the morning, yeah?”

Yuri snorts. Even when he’s about to pass out against his laptop and flushed red from laughing like a maniac, Otabek is like a sweet venom. The memory of him, the desire for him, flows within Yuri’s body like a raging storm, splattering against every crease and every corner, making him want nothing more than to hold Otabek again; it makes his heart race and his mind shut down and his tongue say stupid silly things like. “You’re so fucking beautiful it hurts to wake up when I’m dreaming about you.” What the fuck is that? He wants to slap some sense into him but Otabek laughs lazily.

“Well, you have to. We’ll talk in the morning, so…” He tries to smirk but he can’t possibly look challenging the way he is, struggling to stay awake. “We have a date.” He winks at him and Yuri’s heart feels like it’s gonna burst for his chest.

“Goodnight, you sap.” He scoffs, rolling his eyes. Otabek waves at hangs up, leaving Yuri to stare at the white tab open before him. He bites his lips and covers his face; he feels like he’s breaking out in a fever, like his room suddenly descended to the lowest circle of Hell and some weird monstrous little imp is gonna knock on his door at any time. He feels like turning around and feeling Otabek right next to him, his middle pleasantly warm but the sole of his feet like solid ice peeking in between the sheets,

He clutches the pillow just to let the image linger; it doesn’t matter how far from reality it is, not right now. Not when he has a date in the morning.

If this is all he can get right now, then he’ll take it all. And he’ll make good use of it.


	7. Chapter 7

It grew from a tinge of curiosity to a silly game of taunting through texts back and forth (there’s only a few things Yuri wouldn’t do to see Otabek flustered, but this is definitely not one of them) to a straight up challenge. Now Yuri just can’t stop thinking about it. And it gets worse when he remembers that even Leo (always fucking Leo) knows that Otabek can sing. He has be any good at it, Yuri reckons, if Leo and Zhamila are so eager to record him. They’re both music freaks, they must know about these things, right?

Yuri can’t even imagine what Otabek might sound like. How does he sing. Does he share his sister’s jazz like style, deep and ripping through the air like a blade, carving into your bones and echoing in your ribcage? Does he growl low and full of emotion like some of the lead singers in the bands he listens to do? Does he pull a high tuned falsetto out of nowhere effortlessly like some of the others? Does he sound low and dry and brooding like the Nirvana song Zhamila texted Yuri does? So many options, and not one clue.

Curiosity always gets the best of Yuri. That’s exactly why he can’t decided in between feeling excited about the text or fucking pissed at how unclear it is.

_ > 5pm tonight. I’ll call you. Be dressed, Zhami is here. _

Cryptic as shit and fucking annoying: Otabek knows how to push his buttons. Specially because cryptic is as much of Yuri’s kryptonite as cuteness is Otabek’s. Or pouting. Or sexy. Truth be told, Yuri has more than one weapon in his arsenal. Yet not one has proved to be efficient this time, not as far as he knows. Not unless that call tonight will make a difference, but Yuri has no way of knowing, since his texts keep getting dismissed with taunting and ‘you’ll see’. He hates surprises and Otabek knows.

Yuri skates his anxiousness away that way in such a way even Mila keeps her distance, just in case.

He said he’d call. Yuri asked again just in case but Otabek told him only to wait for it. He’s been waiting for fifteen minutes already, squirming in his desk chair and scrolling down his instagram without even glancing at it, just to soothes his nerves. It’s not working either: he’s just scowling at the bright screen, muttering curses in between his clenched teeth.

Until the damn call finally pops up on his laptop and he all but slams the phone against the desk, wincing at the sound. He hopes it survives the crash but can’t care enough right now to actually check. He can’t even care enough to ask about the third user on the call, to be honest; not when the image the camera shows is Otabek somehow self conscious, his gaze darting in between the screen, the couch he’s sitting on and Zhamila’s bass in her lap. The girl just grins and waves as Otabek glares briefly at her, more playfully than actually pissed,  before turning back to the screen. Is it really happening, then? Will they -?

“Are you finally playing together for us?” A voice chimes in and Yuri doesn’t need to check the second window on their chat to know whose it’s from. Or course he _has_ to be there as well. “Wait! Let me set up -”

“No, Leo.” Otabek cuts him sternly. “No recording. I’m not backing up on that.”

Leo groans and pouts, making Zhamila giggle, but the scowl on Otabek’s face doesn’t budge. He gives up, raising his hands up in surrender. “ _Fine._ But it’d be so cool to just -”

“Don’t, Leo.” Otabek quirks a brow at him and it feels more like a threat than anything he could’ve actually said.

Still, as quirky as he is, Leo only laughs it off. “I won’t! I won’t. Just saying.”

Zhamila cackles and rolls her eyes at him, setting the bass in position. Otabek lowers his gaze to his hands resting on his lap; Yuri believes he saw Otabek pursing his lips into a thin line for barely a fraction of a second before speaking. “I’m still not sure about this, so at the first comment I’ll -”

He scowls at the camera but Yuri knows it’s not exactly directed at him. He jumps in, just in case. “I’ll take a plane just to personally kick his ass, don’t worry.”

Otabek can’t help but snicker, averting his gaze to hide it; Zhamila, however, giggles like a child alongside Leo.

“That’d be so cute if it wasn’t my ass that’s on the line.” Leo coos in between chuckles. “We’ll behave, Beks.” he lifts up a hand, palm flat to the camera, still grinning like an idiot. “Promise.”

Yuri knows his face betrays him the moment he hears the nickname, twisting into a grimace of disgust for just one second. He knows Zhamila noticed, by the way she snorts, trying to contain the laughter. At least Otabek didn’t, too busy trying to gather courage.

“I don’t wanna do this.” Otabek whines, hiding his face behind his hands while Leo cheers for him and Zhamila flails her arms around as if she were holding pompoms, still keeping her stoic rictus.

It’s fucking hilarious, but Yuri refuses to laugh so as to not embarrass Otabek further. Instead, he swallows his pride, gulping down the knot in his throat, and tries to disregard the intense curious stares around him as he speaks. “Would you sing for me, love?” It’s a dirty trick. He knows it, Otabek knows it, yet he still turns to him to hold his gaze with a fondness Yuri’s seen more than once, softening the sharp edges on his expression. The coos and soft chuckles become background noise: nothing can touch them when they get lost in each other’s eyes. Yuri tries again. “Please?”

Otabek stares back for one second, two. He breaks down and allows the tiniest of smiles to twitch his lips upwards. Yuri’s still got it. Zhamila takes the gesture as her cue and starts tapping softly on the strings, pulling out a sweet slow tune. Her brother keeps his gaze away from the camera, probably to avoid cold feet by how intently Leo’s staring, sitting at the edge of his seat.

[ _I don’t wanna see, and I don’t wanna hear the shadow of the arriving bat…_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pTWoP4qDKtA)

It’s nothing like Yuri had imagined. It’s not a string of well trained high notes or powerful low tones piercing though Yuri’s bones. It’s simpler, softer: raw and sweet and so full of emotion yuri feels the words like bullets digging into his skin. He’ll never get why Otabek is into such heart breaking songs.

_Will you tell me – See you soon in a while. When my eyes fade please give me your smile..._

Zhamila joins in, a full fifth higher than her brother and harmonizing so flawlessly Yuri’s certain they’ve been singing like this since… Well, seems like since the girl said her first words. He notices the pinpricks of tears forming at the corner of his eyes and rub them furiously; he won’t cry in front of Otabek’s little sister, not for a damn song. No matter how sweet and vulnerable Otabek’s voice gets, how honest.

It wasn’t because of his voice Otabek refused to do this before, Yuri reckons; it’s because there are no masks when he performs, on the ice or over a slow deep bass line. He gives everything away, as painful and wonderful as it could be. All he tries to hide is now on display, bruises and scratches long healed now tattooed back onto his skin as if telling a story; the melody of his heart flowing through his vocal chords with no barriers to hold it back.

_But even bright days are starting in dawn_

_You'll have time to cry when I'm gone_

 

It’s so fucking beautiful. By the time Zhamila’s fingers lay still over the strings Yuri is pursing his lips to stop them from quivering, his vision blurry with tears he refuses to shed.

It takes him a second too long to find his own voice, worried about it cracking at the first word, yet Leo doesn’t care. He allows his voice to stumble and trip and tremble on his lips, smudging a glistening trail across his cheek. “That was beautiful, Beks. why would you be ashamed of that?” He says as he rubs an eye with the heel of his hand.

Otabek snorts, trying to hold back a nervous laughter; he rest his chin on the palm of his hand and Yuri knows it’s meant to hide the little smirk peeking around his fingers. He can almost see Otabek biting his nails in order not to grin. “You’re crying, Leo. I can hardly take your word for it.”

“Well, _Yeah._ ” Leo replies, rolling his eyes as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re _that_ good, you self conscious idiot.” He chuckles and Otabek looks away, a faint blush dusting his cheeks.

“Yuri?” Zhamila snaps Yuri out of his trance, still working on evening his breath and the hairs on the nape of his neck standing on edge. “What do you think?”

“Uh, I-” He starts and his voice shakes. He moves his hands to his mouth, eyes blown wide in a fraction of a second. Terrified would be an understatement: he’s trying to get Zhamila’s sympathy, as much as he’d like to deny it, and showing himself as a weak sobbing little thing won’t helps his case. “Fuck.” He mutters but the microphone still picks it up The girls grins, her lip trapped in between her teeth and her hands above her heart; Leo mouths a slow ‘Oh my God’ in shock.

Guess what, the Ice Tiger of Russia actually has a fucking heart.

Only Otabek wonders out loud , tilting his head to the side in confusion. “Are you… Yura, are you crying?”

“ _No,”_ Yuri answers quickly, shaking his head but holding his hands in place; he tries to speak again and only a sob comes out. “Fuck, this is all your fault,” he finally whines, rubbing the tears off his eyes before they can get any more obvious. He’s not a fucking crybaby to get all soft over a tune. A sad romantic tune, of course; right up Otabek’s alley. He should have guessed.

Still, he can’t shake it off, the feeling of intimacy, as if it was written only for them. Despite the distance and the little time they have together, against every odd, they stick to each other. They keep each other sane. They rescue each other from drowning into their own abyss.

They inspire each other.

“... Yuri?” The soft voice startles him again, more intrigued than stern. “You didn’t answer, Yuri.” Zhamila continues, her curious gaze fixed on his every move.

“I… “ Yuri wants to say about about their technique, their harmony, how they feel like two fishes swimming around each other, mimicking each other’s moves in the exact opposite way, a mirror dance in their own shared language. Then again, he knows shit about music to bullshit his way through it. He doesn’t even have the strength enough in his voice to make sound anything less than pathetic. Especially, when the words escape him before he can even think about them, looking up at Otabek to find his way out of the mess his head is in. “I love you.” He winces and drops his face on his hands, waiting for the mockery that never comes. “That was so good I-” He huffs and pushes himself up to glare at the screen, puffy eyes and face flushed pink. “Fuck you, Altin.”

“I hope you mean the old one.” The girl fires rapidly with a smirk and Otabek only raises a brow at her. “Little one can’t take anything seriously after such a cheesy display.”

Leo cracks up after a moment of awkward silence in which Yuri doesn’t know whether to laugh at the kid’s witty remark or just go ahead and die of embarrassment. Otabek looks about to scold her, for real this time, judging by the way her face twists into a childish pout, when Yuri groans loudly, leaning against the back of his chair and grabbing fistfulss of his hair in irritation. “Fuck! I sound just like Viktor!”

Otabek widens his eyes at Yuri and _giggles_ alongside his sister, who’s still got something under her sleeve. She’s poisonous, the brat; good thing she likes Yuri, huh? “Is that so?” She starts and Yuri already feel a chill running down his spine. She covers her mouth in mock surprise. “Are you gonna jump onto him on the ice and make out all cute and-”

“I’m gonna stop you right there, sister.” Otabek lifts a finger in warning, his mouth still curved upwards but with a defying glint in his eyes. There’s a line Zhamila is about to cross and Yuri is positive her brother can’t possibly stop her. They’re fierce, wild things but each generation seems more daring than the previous one. If Otabek is a warrior, then Zhamila must be the ever fighting rioter, molotov cocktail in hand and all.

But she’ll be damned if that tiny gesture will stop her; even Yuri knows better and he’s just met her. She still lowers her voice in a secretive murmur, stealing glances at Otabek. “Are you gonna sing your sappy cool-kid songs to him?” and she smiles like the Chesire Cat, mischievous but still all-knowing. Well, knowing more than Yuri does, for sure. He’s yet to understand what the fuck does that mean.

Still, Otabek replies before Yuri can actually ask. “Actually, it’s late. And you’re a child.” He scolds her, turning towards her. She’s about to speak but he cuts him short. “We should go to bed. _You, especially.”_ He adds with a certain venom in his voice.

And of fucking course, she only laughs. Leo only shrugs it off: it’s not like they can be on it all night, after all. “Well, I’m signing off, then.” He waves goodbye, and Yuri sees a hint of a smirk hiding on the curve of his lips. “It’s not like I haven’t heard your sappy cool-kid singing anyways.” He says with a wink and disconnects before Yuri can say anything.

And he’s got some things to say, that he has. It’s like the bastard is doing it on purpose: Leo seems to be baiting Yuri, to make him wonder. And Yuri wants to; fuck, he wants to. But if he asks Otabek right now, he knows his words are gonna sound more like the bitch fit of a tired spouse than an innocent question. So he clenches his teeth, swallowing his curiosity down.

“Yeah, I should probably get going as well.” He tries to sound indifferent, his eyes still puffy from weeping like a baby. For a fucking song, no less. He won’t live that down, that’s for sure.

“Is everything okay, Yura?” Otabek asks once more and Yuri huffs silently: he’d give anything to have Otabek with him right now. To be able to kiss his concern away. To lick that subtle pout off his lips. Zhamila just with a strand of her hair in between her fingers, absentmindedly.

“Yeah, just-” Yuri looks for the words but there’s no way to explain. What can he even explain? How jealous he still is of Leo? How he keeps on falling into Leo’s trap every time? Because Yuri _knows_ Leo is getting a kick out of all of this. Why, though, is beyond him. “It’s fine. We’ll talk in the morning, alright, love?” Yuri smiles at him and it eases Otabek’s nerves a bit. Yuri can see it’s not near enough but it’s the best he can give at the moment.

“All right.” Otabek finally yields, lowering his gaze. There’s a hint of a side smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and a fuzzy feeling on Yuri’s stomach; both growing larger at the same time. Dammit, all of Viktor’s crap is actually contagious, isn’t it? “Goodnight, Kitten.” Otabek almost purrs out. The sweetness of his voice makes Yuri disregard the girl’s mockery at Otabek’s back, hands clasped together against her cheek and daydreaming eyes. Yuri does _not_ look like that. At all.

He hopes.

The call gets cut after a quick goodbye on Yuri’s side. He pushes himself off the chair to drop face down against the mattress. He’s been all sorts of ridiculous today. He wasn’t this sickly sweet; he wasn’t so damn _weak_. It was just a song, for fuck’s sake. Sung with passion, and a tenderness he’s still not used to. Sure, but still.

He huffs and swears against the bedsheets until his phone lights up. He groans but picks it up anyways: it’s either Otabek asking again or that dick giving his final blow.

_ > quick question? _

Yuri mutters a low ‘fuck you’ under his breath, as if the phone could somehow pick it up and send it to Leo if he spoke too loud. What the hell does how want now? Yuri has enough with knowing how close he and Otabek are, how much Leo knows that Yuri doesn’t. And, sure, it’s all a matter of time, and Otabek isn’t purposely hiding this time, and all that shit. But it still hurts like a bitch to be reminded of it. And he makes sure Leo notices his mood as subtly as he can.

_ < what. _

Yuri would have let his phone fall onto his covers if Leo had taken more than a second to answer. After all, the bastard deserves to be left on hold for a whole night; he’s making Yuri feel like an outsider. Even though it’s probably not Leo’s intention, Yuri’s pissed and someone has to pay for it.

Still, Leo’s quick to reply. And clear as glass.

_ > Guess who recorded the whole performance of our beks and baby altina _

Yeah, Leo is a dick. He’s playing with Yuri’s mind and bragging about it. And he’s got some nerve, too; must be the whole “living with a street rat for years” thing.

But he’s also resourceful, Yuri has to concede. And he’s got something Yuri wants.

Well, Yuri isn’t that sleepy anyways; he could stay up a bit more for a chat.


	8. Chapter 8

It’s taken Yuri quite some effort. It’s taken him a full damned week of begging and whining and demanding, but he’s done it. He’s got Yakov to close the rink for one afternoon just for him and ‘he’d better not hurt himself then because Yakov was gonna personally kick his ass into the emergency room’. At least that’s what the old man said, and truth be told, this time it sounds pretty accurate to Yuri’s ears. But fuck it, Yuri isn’t the champion for nothing: he deserves a day on the ice just for himself.

For research on his program, he even dared say. But damn him if this routine is ever gonna leave the secrecy of his rink. It’s not meant for other eyes to see, for other people to hear; it’s the melody of _them_ , of Otabek and Yuri dancing as one in the intimacy of dark alleys and posh hotel rooms, bodies in sync as if they were one and melting into each other. It’s an alluring dance, too, slow yet powerful, and coated in a thin veil of uncertainty. A sort of tug of war on the ice, in between a Biellmann spin executed with such devotion Yuri can feel it tugging at the strings of his heart as he swirls into it, and a Scorpion sit fading onto the bridge on his tune, desperate to reach out.

It’s funny; it’s all happening because of _him._ Yuri barely pictures Otabek in his head and his feet move on his own; his body twists and jumps and flows, weightless, free. Otabek’s voice resonates in his head like a sledgehammer, pulling apart the mask Yuri wears in front of others on a daily basis. Blow after blow it falls, like pulling teeth. The echo of a plucked bass guitar inspiring his blades to glide over the ice, now lovingly, now painfully. All because of Otabek, and his routine couldn’t describe their dynamic better: a constant coming and going, tender and violent and splattered on dried blood and ages old scars. Edges that cut Yuri’s fingers when he tries to feel them, to cure the infection underneath. An embrace that falls short and a trail of tears.

But that’s not it, that’s not all. Fuck it, that’s not all they are; Otabek is not a mere broken doll, some debris of a person the sea has washed up to Yuri’s shores. He’s so much more; he’s fire, licking onto wounds and closing them clean, never to be stopped. He’s earth: a monolith of stone no wind could ever throw down. He’s even the very wind, piercing through mountains no matter how long it could take. He’s the calm everlasting ocean: hiding maelstroms and horror and yet so beautifully calm, so loving. He’s fallen down, sunk deeper than Yuri could never imagine and still, he stands with his head high.

He’s a warrior. And Yuri? Well… Yuri’s his right hand, the rifle at his back: Yuri will never let anyone do any wrong to Otabek again. He’s the water that cleans the wounds before closing. The wind blowing at his back to make sure the monolith never falls. The sunlight falling into the ocean waters, unraveling the beauty in the abyss. He’ll stand by Otabek’s side no matter what.

Yuri spin into his final position, head down and arms closed on himself, one hand over his heart and one around his middle. He feels the pinpricks of unshed tears in his eyes and rubs his face quickly, sniffling a sob. The music ends and he almost forgets it was being played on the rink’s speakers and not only inside his head. He breaths deep to calm his racing heart and blames the exhaustion for it. He’d loved to believe it himself.

He marches to the cellphone propped up on the rink wall to stop the recording. The routine is not meant to be seen by anyone else; it’s their own song, their own dance. He’s not the overly sugary sap Viktor is that needs to announce his love to the world. Yuri’s got his own ways: more intimate, more significant.

He shakes the last of the tears he refuses to acknowledge he’s shed during his skate off his lashes..

It’s not meant to be seen by anyone else than them. It’s too intimate, too tale-telling. It’s Yuri’s heart bleeding on the ice. It’s Otabek’s voice flowing sticky sweet like honey on the background. It’s a funeral song made a love anthem.

It fits them.

Yuri clicks ‘send’.


End file.
